Ivan retracted his gaze, his expression unreadable but his thoughts sharp. He hadn't forgotten who he was dealing with. The two men in front of him weren't just criminals, they were gangsters, hardened and dangerous. Their hands were stained with more blood than most ordinary wizards could ever imagine. Whatever grim fate had unfolded on this fishing boat wasn't worth dwelling on; it was just another casualty in their ruthless world.
The boat had already begun its journey, cutting through the murky waters with a low hum. A salty sea breeze swept over the deck, carrying with it the tang of the ocean and a subtle sense of foreboding. The city of San Francisco lay behind them, its sprawling terrain shaped like the number "3," with a wide bay carved into its middle. San Francisco nestled on the lower left curve of the land, while Oakland stretched out to the right, a different beast entirely.
The fishing boat lurched forward, its small frame struggling against the restless waves as it made its way toward Oakland. The air grew heavier, the smell of salt mixing with the stench of fish and damp wood.
---
Before long, Oakland's docks came into view, a chaotic jumble of activity and decay. Unlike the relatively orderly harbor of San Francisco, these docks seemed to be held together by sheer willpower. Wooden crates were haphazardly piled along the shoreline, and a multitude of ships bobbed in the water, their paint peeling and their hulls creaking like relics of another age. The people aboard them glanced up as the fishing boat approached, their faces a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
At the bow of the boat, Hared waved with practiced ease. Almost instantly, a small group of dockworkers sprang into action, hurrying to meet them. One man secured the rope to a rusted bollard with practiced efficiency, while the others prepared to unload the catch.
Hared turned to the group with his usual easy grin. "We'll need some time to get things sorted. Boss Harry," he said, addressing Ivan directly, "you're welcome to rest here, or you could stretch your legs a bit and look around."
Ivan surveyed the bustling docks and cracked a faint smile. "It's my first time in Oakland. I'm curious to see what it has to offer."
"Fair enough." Hared nodded and gestured toward one of the dockworkers. A wiry man, shifty-eyed but quick on his feet, jogged over, his expression a mix of deference and nervous energy.
"This is Dink," Hared said, slinging an arm around the man's shoulders. "He'll show you around. When we're ready to go, someone will come find you."
The man straightened up, puffing out his chest a little as if to bolster his credibility. "I'm Dink Lonely," he introduced himself with an awkward grin. "Anything you need, just ask me."
Ivan extended his hand with a polite but measured smile. "Rocky Balboa," he said simply.
The two men exchanged a firm handshake, the kind that carries unspoken boundaries.
With a parting nod, Hared climbed into a waiting car, leaving Ivan and his companion Harry in Dink's capable, if questionable, hands. For now, Ivan's plans were on hold. He had hoped to use this detour to dig for information about the elusive Kangaroo bandit, but Dink's constant presence made that impossible. He'd have to bide his time.
---
The trio set off along the uneven streets of Oakland. It quickly became clear that this part of town was far grittier than San Francisco. Dirty water snaked through the cracks in the pavement, forming puddles that seemed designed to splatter anyone unlucky enough to pass by. A passing car confirmed this theory, sending a wave of filth splashing onto Dink's trousers.
"Ugh, this place is a dump," Dink muttered, his face twisted in irritation as he tried to shake off the offending liquid. "Nothing like Moscow. Now that's a proper city."
Ivan chuckled lightly, his tone dry. "Could be worse. At least it's better than London. Over there, the streets run yellow with a mix of rainwater and sewerage."
Harry raised an eyebrow, amused. "You've been to London, Brother Rocky?"
"Once or twice, for business," Ivan replied smoothly, his smile faint but disarming.
As the conversation tapered off, Ivan turned his attention to their surroundings. The streets were lined with small shops, most of them laundries, their doorways crowded with bamboo racks draped in freshly washed clothes. Here and there, hints of domestic life peeked through the grime; makeshift stoves set up outside homes, pots bubbling with modest meals. Women crouched by the fires, stirring their pots as they chatted in rapid, familiar tones.
What caught Ivan's attention most was the people. The majority of the faces he saw were blacks and Mexicans, as well as a few eastern European immigrants.
He glanced at Harry, his curiosity piqued. "Is this the ghetto?" he asked.
Harry nodded, a glint of pride in his eyes. "More or less. Many of our people settled here after coming across the Pacific. It's not much, but it's home for them."
Ivan gave a thoughtful nod, his sharp eyes scanning the streets again. Beneath the dirt and chaos, there was life here; tenacious, vibrant, and resilient. But he couldn't shake the feeling that danger lurked just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Harry nodded and explained, his tone carrying a tinge of frustration, "Yes, the ghetto here is not as developed as the one in San Francisco. The main reason is that the people here are poorer, and there's a lot more chaos. It's hard for any community to thrive under those circumstances."
He gestured to the bustling street they were walking along. "This is Gold Street, the heart of ghetto here. There are a few more streets like this nearby. Together, they make up the ghetto district."
Ivan glanced around, taking in the narrow streets lined with wooden signboards and modest shopfronts. He thought back to the martial arts movies he had watched in his previous life. The air here was charged, like the set of a period drama where tensions simmered just beneath the surface. Curiosity got the better of him.
"Brother Harry," he asked with a sly smile, "I've heard that there are gangs and Cartel here. Is that true?"
Harry sighed heavily, his face clouding with weariness. "It's a problem that's been around for years. When people from the same towns back home migrated here, they naturally banded together to help one another. But as time went on, competition over business and resources turned those groups into gangs. Rivalries grew, and soon they were fighting over territory."
He paused, his voice lowering as he spoke about his family. "It wasn't until my father stepped in and joined forces with a few other leaders to create the Migrants Mutual Aid Association that we managed to bring some semblance of order. The Association keeps things under control… most of the time. But," he added grimly, "there are still disputes, and fights break out more often than I'd like to admit."
Just as he finished speaking, a loud commotion erupted further up the street. The chatter of the crowd was quickly replaced by shouts, followed by the unmistakable clatter of sticks and fists. The atmosphere tensed as a crowd began gathering around the source of the disturbance. The sound of "ping pong" rang out, bamboo sticks striking flesh or wood, reverberating through the street.
Harry's expression darkened, his brows knitting into a scowl. "Speak of the devil," he muttered under his breath. "Brother Rocky, excuse me for a moment." Without waiting for a reply, he darted toward the growing crowd, his determined stride cutting through the chaos.
Dink, who had been quietly observing, cocked his head, his curiosity piqued. "What's going on?" he asked, his tone casual but intrigued.
Ivan smiled, gesturing toward the scene. "Let's take a look. Might as well see the action."
Dink grinned in agreement, and they followed, weaving their way through the gathering throng.
---
The fight was well underway by the time they arrived. A dozen men were swinging bamboo sticks and shouting in a cacophony of overlapping dialects. Blood speckled the dusty street as one man's head was struck hard, sending him staggering back. The crowd was thick, jostling and shouting, but most seemed content to watch the spectacle unfold rather than intervene.
Ivan spotted Harry in the thick of it, trying to mediate. But it was clear the situation was beyond his control. The leader of one group, a burly Mexican man, was shouting in his native tongue, while the other side responded in rapid-fire Portuguese. Neither side understood the other, and the frustration quickly boiled over into violence again.
Nearby, Dink leaned casually against a crate, watching with an amused expression. "Quite the show, huh?" he said, nudging Ivan with his elbow.
Ivan smirked but said nothing. He was scanning the crowd, his mind working. Spotting a man on the edge of the throng who seemed less invested in the fight and more entertained by it, Ivan seized the opportunity. He stepped closer and tapped the man on the shoulder.
"Brother," Ivan said with a friendly smile, "mind answering a question for me?"
The man barely glanced at him, his attention fixed on the brawl. "What do you want? I'm busy watching."
Unfazed, Ivan shifted his hand subtly, revealing a neatly stacked column of 25 shiny dollars coins in his palm. The coins caught the light, gleaming with an almost hypnotic allure.
The man's eyes widened slightly as he registered what he was looking at. He turned toward Ivan, his impatience melting into interest. "What's this?"
"A small reward," Ivan said smoothly, holding up the coins with a knowing grin. "All you need to do is answer a few questions for me. The more useful your answers, the more of this you'll walk away with."
The man straightened up, eyeing Ivan's clean, respectable attire. He broke into a broad smile, his demeanor instantly shifting to one of eager cooperation. "You've come to the right person," he said confidently. "They call me the know-it-all of Oakland. If there's something I don't know, it's not worth knowing."
Ivan chuckled and flipped him one of the coins. "Good to hear. Let's start with something simple. Do you know anything about a man called the Kangaroo bandit?"
The man's face lit up with recognition, and he leaned in conspiratorially, already starting to speak. Ivan smiled inwardly; sometimes, a little charm and a stack of coins were all it took to open doors.